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Woven from bronze and pewter plastic, they are the only coverings for the wood and glass tables at the new Café Boulud in the Four Seasons.

The placemats may look casual, but Café Boulud most decidedly is not.

There are $39 entrées, Larousse Gastronomique menu descriptions and a wooden box of reading glasses that say everything about the target market. The studied casualness is largely cosmetic. Like a dowager countess in a jogging suit, Café Boulud retains the bearing of a fine-dining restaurant.

The month-old restaurant on the second floor and the downstairs bar are among the 14 or so properties run by New York-based celebrity chef Daniel Boulud. He sees no contradiction in harnessing his brand of modern French cooking to competing hotel chains, and recently opened a Maison Boulud in the Ritz-Carlton Montreal. He also closed two Vancouver restaurants and one Las Vegas property.

Café Boulud comes closest to down-market with its $38 prix-fixe menu at lunch. (I say close, because $38 for three courses is hardly populist.)

Chef de cuisine Tyler Shedden, a 35-year-old British Columbian who began working for Boulud in Manhattan last year, uses high-quality ingredients and solid technique. Try the one-two punch of country pâté, both creamy and nubbly, followed by a properly chewy and minerally hanger steak that is nearly outshone by a blissfully rich garnish of stewed oxtail and nutty celeriac.

Lighter but no less satisfying is a starter of sharply dressed Boston lettuce with a main course of firm Mediterranean sea bream. With crisp skin, toasted almonds and a red streak of romesco, it’s piscine perfection.

The stripped-down setting is inappropriate for Shedden’s other, more complicated dishes.

Shedden follows the corporate Café Boulud format and divides his à la carte menu into four sections: Tradition, Season, Vegetable Garden and World Cuisine. The categories are somewhat arbitrary since one night’s garden-inspired crispy duck egg becomes the next day’s seasonal lunch.

There’s the requisite luxe touch in which the bones of earthy-sharp vinegar chicken ($29) are replaced with foie gras.

There’s the requisite Ferran Adria homage in the almond foam atop rich kabocha squash risotto ($22) that could be the love child of a jack o’ lantern and fondue.

There’s even a shout-out to Toronto’s own Geoff Hopgood in the lamb belly croquettes on a don’t-try-this-at-home lamb loin ($32) that brazenly stitches together Greek, Mideast and Sardinian idioms. Visually the plate is just as audacious with its geometric pattern of eggplants and cucumbers.

Desserts try even harder to please the eye. Pastry chef Saeko Nemoto makes a showstopper out of a sorbet-filled grapefruit shell ($12) and candy floss halvah. She dots gold leaf on a brownie and sprinkles meringues the size of chocolate chips on a berry vacherin ($11). Some of the bells and whistles are pointless, like the flavourless caramelized milk ice cream on the warm chocolate cake ($12). At least the lemony madeleines ($9) are simple and to the point.

Something is off with the Toronto iteration, and it’s not just the disconnect between ambience and ambition.

I expect a lot from a restaurant that marries Boulud’s five-star standards to the deservedly excellent reputation of one of the world’s great hotel chains.

So how am I to reconcile distracted servers, unaccommodating reservationists and fumbling busboys with the comfort and poise promised by these brands? Boulud, after all, admits installing hidden cameras in his New York dining rooms to ensure first-rate service.

My disappointment begins with a silly tussle over whether I’m allowed to eat at 6:30 p.m. on a Monday night (my choice) versus 6:15 p.m. (theirs, even though there’s no second seating). This unforeseen voyage into The Land of No finally ends two meals later when I’m charged $17 for a glass of wine I order but never receive.

There are moments of grace, like the knowledgeable server who offers to replace her recommended wine pairing if I don’t like it.

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